


Bunks Sure Are Small

by DanOfVulcan



Series: Quotidiana [4]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanOfVulcan/pseuds/DanOfVulcan
Summary: Malcolm and Trip meet at the end of a day's work and share their thoughts and feelings.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Series: Quotidiana [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/695574
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	Bunks Sure Are Small

**Author's Note:**

> This is being posted unbeta'd. Any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

One Charles Tucker III walked -- or better trudged, as expected of one exhausted from work -- alone along the corridor. He considered, but for a brief moment, that Enterprise was running smoothly. He could, after all, feel only the faintest of vibrations through the soles of his boots, coming from the deck plating -- a clear sign the engines were back again to their peak performance. 

His very self, on the other hand, was the exact opposite of anything ideal.

The tall, blonde man was positively disheveled; the blue coveralls a mess of wrinkled fabric, grimed, undershirt sticking out beneath the hem of the blue jacket, pants sagging. The black boots felt ten times heavier, and only served to make the walk a true penitence one.

The sight of the grey door, no more special or different from any of the other ones on that corridor -- or even that deck or the very ship -- was, nonetheless, a comforting sight to Trip.

***

Almost lost in thought as he read his way through _Ulysses_ , Malcolm Reed almost didn’t notice when the door opened with a barely audible swoosh. Almost.

From where he lay in bed he but turned his head to the newcomer -- it could only be, naturally, his husband. Only Commander Tucker would dare to enter his quarters without chiming in. He considered, upon seeing the blonde, that he looked a mess. A hot mess, granted, but a mess nonetheless. He quickly set the book aside, and sat on the mattress.

“Rough shift, I see,” Malcolm more stated than asked.

Trip took a few steps into the room and sighed; heavily. He stood, silent for a moment, before talking.

“A pretty rough one,” he said running a hand through his hair, “but we’re done with the inner hull.”

Both men looked at each other -- Malcolm offered a gentle smile, and Trip reciprocated. It never ceased to amaze Malcolm how his husband’s eyes shone whenever he smiled. Little did he know -- not for want of Trip telling him so, but because it’s the kind of stuff no one can really grasp -- how happy Trip was whenever he was around Malcolm. 

And they really were happy. It didn’t matter whether it was a senior staff meeting, an away mission, movie night, lunch together in-between shifts, or alone in their quarters -- they were, for a lack of a better word, in love. 

So it was out of love that Malcolm asked if Trip had eaten. He was, needless to say, appalled when the latter confessed it had been three hours he had had water -- he had a vague memory of eating something around noon.

“Damn, I’m being dressed down by you, Mal?” Trip said after Malcolm chastised him for not eating properly. 

Malcolm jokingly slapped Trip on the butt, and told him he was going to get something in the mess hall for him to eat.

“I don’t deserve you,” Trip said, then kissed Malcolm gently on the lips.

“I know,” Malcolm retorted, smiling.

***

Humanity had become a space-faring civilization, _Enterprise_ was cruising through deep space at multiple times the speed of light, and yet at least one thing remained the same -- a shower’s power to restore one’s well being.

Water coursed over Trip’s light skin, his blonde chest hair plastered against his pecs, every sore muscle in his body singing hosannas to the warmth engulfing them. The spray against his nuque was truly relaxing, trance-like almost, as Trip allowed the water to run freely over his head; by this point he wasn’t so much showering as he was simply relaxing under the water.

After what his husband would consider an inordinately long shower, Trip stepped out from under the spray, turned it off, and toweled himself off.

He had, somehow, gotten himself a clean shirt and a boxer short prior to entering the bathroom. Now, in all honesty, he wasn’t all that sure it had been him; it could’ve easily been Malcolm. Trip had, after all, been running almost on autopilot after the shift’s end, and had gotten to Malcolm’s quarters on instinct rather than thoughtful navigation. Not to mention Malcolm had been awfully cuddly, caring, and present of late, which would explain him taking even more care of Trip. Not that he usually wasn’t -- the man did care about Trip more than any amount of words could describe -- but he was plagued by that ever present British dryness that could, to some, seem a mark of disinterest or even lack of affection. Trip knew otherwise, of course. 

Trip considered, as he stepped into his deep space-themed boxer shorts, that it had all started after _Enterprise_ ’s recent run-in with that quantum anomaly. It had been a close call, T’Pol had declared. “Few Vulcan ships have encountered such a phenomenon and survived,” were her words, or so Jon had quoted. After they’d had enough time to run diagnostics, and _in loco_ assessments, Trip and his team were left with the dire task of repairing almost an entire section of the saucer.

“We’re too far to make our way back to Jupiter Station,” Jon had said. “And T’Pol says there are no inhabited star systems nearby.”

Trip had sighed, resigned himself to the task, and informed his team. 

“Now that’s a predicament,” Malcolm had said, matter of factly, when Trip informed him that their quarters had fallen prey to the anomaly’s destruction; ever since he’d been extra loving to Trip. They had since moved into Malcolm’s old quarters -- a lot smaller than the one they’d been assigned after they got married.

It was to that small room --a single bunk, a desk, a chair, and a small closet on a corner -- that Trip stepped into. Atop the desk lay a tray with a sandwich, a cup of orange juice, and a piece of what looked like chocolate pie. Trip looked at the bunk where Malcolm sat on the mattress -- his worn, hardcover copy of _Ulysses_ in his lap as he stared at Trip.

“I hope it’s to your liking,” he said almost apologetically.

Trip walked over to Malcolm, kissed him lightly on the lips, and assured him it was just perfect. He had expected, he told Malcolm, to just shower and drop dead tired in bed. His husband getting him dinner? More than his exhausted mind had dared to think.

“Nonsense,” Malcolm said as Trip walked over to the desk. “It’s the least I could do,” he finished, still watching his husband. Poor James lay somewhat forgotten by now.

Trip adjusted himself comfortably on the chair -- or as comfortably as his tired body allowed -- and munched away at the sandwich. Turkey breast, lettuce, tomato slices, and mayo never tasted so good. 

“Don’t mention it,” Malcolm replied after Trip thanked him again -- in between ravenous bites, of course.

Trip carried on with his meal; Malcolm lay in bed and tried getting back to his reading. Trip finally finished his meal a couple of minutes later, and got up to brush his teeth. He huffed something at Malcolm, after the latter said he shouldn’t eat that fast, and disappeared into the bathroom. 

Malcolm had managed to focus again on the narrative just when Trip emerged from the adjacent room. He moved closer, stopping by the bunk.

Now, his mind clearly hadn’t considered the facts when it had allowed his instincts to drive him to Malcolm’s quarters. The room was very small; the bunk, smaller. Malcolm pretended not to notice the tall blonde admiring him; blue eyes lovingly staring at him. Though in his grey sweatpants and white shirt, Malcolm felt naked under the gaze of his husband. It is, indeed, far more sensual to have one clothed and vulnerable than barenaked -- it adds layers, no pun intended, to the whole process. It speaks of promises and possibilities left to the mind, and heart, to explore and come up with. All in all, both men considered, unbeknownst to the other, each looked the most desiring person they’d ever laid eyes on.

Trip, in a single, gentle motion, crawled leisurely over Malcolm, enjoying the indescribable experience of being physically close to the man he loved. He lay on his right beside Malcolm -- who was at the edge of the mattress, lying on his back -- and stared into Malcolm’s grey-green eyes.

“Bunks sure are small,Loo-tenant,” Trip said in his more affected accent that he knew Malcolm loved. It instantly got a smile from the Brit, who put his right hand under his nuque to support his head.

“We can always sleep separately, you know,” he said.

“Ah know,” Trip replied. “But I’ve missed you, Mal.” He thought he knew how deep that’d hit his husband, but again it was only an idea. Malcolm was beyond moved by that. Whenever his husband expressed himself in such gentle terms -- that’s when Malcolm was moved the most. “And that’s why I came here,” Trip continued. “Because I missed you.” Trip kissed the warm skin of Malcolm’s neck. Malcolm moaned out of pleasure and approval. Soon a second, then a third bite followed. Not long after was Joyce exiled to the nightstand.

It turned into a make out session -- a very leisurely paced one. It wasn’t passion proper that fueled it, but rather longing. Passion does transfigures, after a few years, into a far deeper and more demanding want that can only be quenched by the deepest, most fulfilling of actions -- being together.

“We can always try and evict Jon from his quarters,” Trip suggested once Malcolm observed, after almost falling from the bunk, that it was indeed small for the two of them.

“What about Porthos?” Malcolm asked.

“I’ll distract him with some cheese and you kick Jon out of the room,” Trip joked.

“You’re a wicked man.” Malcolm kissed Trip on the lips.

“But you married me all the same,” Trip shot back once his lips were free.

They stared at each other for a moment.

“I didn’t have much of a choice, now did I?”

“And I did?”

Malcolm simply smiled, mimicking Trip. In truth, they’d had no other choice. Not acknowledging their feelings would be akin to not living their lives to the fullest -- one can’t simply ignore such emotional matters when confronted by them.

“What are you doing?” Trip asked as he saw Malcolm get up. For a second he thought his husband was up to something sexy -- which in all honesty was titillating, though his body was way too tired for anything more intense than a few kisses and caresses -- but was quickly reassured when Malcolm told him he was simply going to turn the lights off.

“Don’t worry, Love,” Malcolm said as he lay back in bed, “I know you’re not really in much of a shape for some action.”

“I’ll have you know I’m in perfect shape for any action you want.”

“Perfect,” Malcolm declared. “Be the big spoon, then.”

Trip jokingly grumbled as he wrapped himself around his husband, engulfing Malcolm in his heat, and being heated in turn. As each declared how they’d missed one another, they fell asleep basking in the scent of each other.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last of the Quotidiana fics. I shouldn't have taken this long to post this - it almost feels like an offense to the person whom created the amazing art that inspired the fic - but life has been life-ing on me for quite a while now. Nonetheless, I hope you guy have enjoyed reading these, and again thank you for taking your time to read my work!


End file.
